


Beginning. Rock.

by Sipsthytea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Flowers, Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It Hurts So Bad, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Angst, M/M, Married Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Mentioned Iwaizumi Hajime, Not Happy, Oikawa Tooru Needs a Hug, Oikawa Tooru is a Mess, POV Oikawa Tooru, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Protective Iwaizumi Hajime, Sad Oikawa Tooru, This hurts, i cried while writing, im so sorry, o am begging you, please give him a hug, uh sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28624659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sipsthytea/pseuds/Sipsthytea
Summary: It happens every year, it happens at midnight. It’s as if his body knows, as if he knows. And maybe he does, that doesn’t mean he wants to.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Beginning. Rock.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this! This fic took me a while and I never really expected it to be as long as it was! It was quite the heartbreak for me but I love it so much! Please enjoy!!

Oikawa’s body seemed to know. 

It seemed to know that it was midnight and there was supposed to be something that he had to do. A person he was supposed to see, someone he was supposed to love. His body knew he was supposed to be awake, reaching across his bed, and feeling for the warmth of a body, strands of hair, fabric from clothing. Familiarity. 

Maybe it was his heart. 

Maybe it knew it was meant to be swollen with affection, overflowing with the sight of seeing the sun smile for him. Maybe his mind was hungry. Having been starved from that sound, that sound of laughter, of insults that never really held malice. Or maybe it missed being snapped at, or having things thrown at it. 

It couldn’t have been his head. 

No, his head should know better. It should know better than to make him miss something that’s not coming back. It should have known by now, that this constant pattern has been broken. His mind was strong enough for that. 

Maybe not his heart.

Definitely not his body.

But he suspected that hopefully, his mind would have been. 

The room around him was silent, filled with the darkness of the night. Moonbeams shyly dancing along the thick curtains that loomed above his windows. He held them open this time of year, in a frugal attempt to fight the heat, it never really worked but it eased something in his mind.

Something Oikawa would never dare mutter aloud. 

With a sigh, he sat up. It was far too early for anything to be open, far too dark, but he still found himself standing. Stretching out his arms and popping his hips, relishing in the quick relief it provided him. But something was missing, someone telling him to take better care of himself, to go get professionally treated. 

But Oikawa couldn’t quite put his finger on it, and it probably didn’t…

Probably wasn’t something…

He’ll get over it.

The streets were silent, footsteps echoing dully against the dirt road. He’s been gone for years, but this didn’t feel all that different from when he was in high school. It came to him with a thundering sense of familiarity and clarity. He was home.

But something was missing. 

Something should be beside him, reminding him not to be a dumbass, to watch where he steps, to be kind, and sign that autograph for that kid. There was something - someone? 

Some  _ are  _ missing. It scratched at the back of his mind, itching away at him, chanting lightly in his mind, vibrating between his fingertips, burning in his throat. And maybe - just maybe - if Oikawa looked hard enough, if he really tried, maybe he’d find it.

But he never did, anytime it scratched too hard, or burned too brightly, he’d let himself drop it. He’d let the feelings sink into the cool waters of forgetfulness, to sizzle within the ice of delusion. 

As it begins to pound against his skull, he lowers his neck down to his shoulders, hiking up the neck of his sweater. It doesn’t do much, but it allows him to take his mind off of the pounding. Filling it instead with the dirt kicked up by his white shoes on his sweatpants. Or the unruliness of his hair. Or the dark circles growing under his eyes. Or the fact that he doesn’t have his phone or his keys. Or he’s walking when he could've just driven. Or the fact that he has the exact money to get to where he’s going, not a penny more, not a penny less. 

These small little things swarm his head long enough to burrow in front of the most pressing issue, it’ll be enough to tide him over until he gets there. The walk will belong, and it won’t be an easy one, he really should have just taken a train or something, but he doesn’t. He knows that if he did, he would’ve never come here. He would’ve chickened out. He would’ve stepped off, ducked away, and waited for the stop to pass. He would’ve let them drop him off in Tokyo, somewhere far enough away from where he needs to be. 

Where he should be. 

Because his body is weak, his heart is weak but his mind isn’t. 

His mind is all he has left. 

Oikawa is sure his phone is ringing. Texts and phone calls, people trying to make sure he’s not away by doing things to wake him. They all mean well, they all just want him to be ok, but he needs to cope. This is how he copes. 

He awakes at the crack ass of dawn, draws himself out of his bed, lets his feet carry him to this stupid flower shop because it was Iwa- 

Who?

Who was he going to say?

Iwaizumi? That name. Was that what he was going to say? That name, why does it seem so familiar. Why does it soothe the scratching in his throat, but why does it make his chest throb? Why does it make the world around him crack and threaten to break apart? Why is he breathing so hard? 

Fuck why can’t he breathe?

Why are his eyes burning? God, why does that name hurt so much? 

What does it even mean? Who even is that? 

_ Bolder. Rock. Beginning.  _

**What?**

_ Bolder. Rock. Beginning.  _

That’s what it means. The realization dawns on Oikawa harder than it probably should have. The loud shrill of a payphone disrupts his thoughts, cutting through the panic. It rings dryly on the empty street, bouncing off the dirt and houses. The moon’s glint reflecting off the plastic case. He could ignore it, let it ring until the streets went quiet. Until the sun decided to crest the dirt streets. 

But he staggers towards the phone, hands clutching the metal box. Letting short gasps fill the air, boxing around the rings, he reaches for the phone. It might not even be for him, it might be for a stranger who doesn’t know. It might be for a mother calling her child. A child calling their parents. A best friend called to ask the other to hang out. A lover apologizing for a fight. 

It could be him. It might be Iwaizumi. 

“Iwa,” he croaked, reaching farther, walking faster. He has to make it, he needs to.

He’s back, “Iwa….” He’s there, I know he is.

“Iwa.”

Oikawa gripped the phone in his hand, ripping it from the hook, shakily placing it to his ear. The world is spinning, but the sun is coming from behind these houses, it’s gracing the specs of dust, it’s happening. Iwa. Iwa.

Iwa. 

“Iwa,” he wheezes, holding the but of the phone close to his mouth, pressing it into his lips. It’s dirty and his mother would pinch his ear if she saw, but he needs closer. Iwa is there. His Iwa is there. 

“Iwa,” he started, letting his breath draw out of him slowly, resting his forearm onto the cool metal, “Iwa-chan...it feels good -”

“Oikawa,” is the voice he’s met with, but it’s not his Iwa. It’s not Iwa-chan. It’s not Iwaizumi Hajime. It’s another voice and it makes something within Oikawa grow cold. The hope that began to bloom within him, the easing feeling within his stomach died. 

He felt like he was dying all over again. 

“Toru,” A grave voice whispered, it was rough and scratchy, maturing from highschool. Since he was a little pip-squeak. It  _ was  _ late. 

“Hinata,” he breathed. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t Iwa. It would never be Iwa. 

“Are you ok? Are you out? You shouldn’t be out. Where are you? We can come to get you-”

“Do you know what today is?” He says because he knows that Hinata does, he knows that they all do. These are things he knows that  _ they  _ know. 

“Do you know what it is right now?” Oikawa said, looking through the plastic, tracing his finger across the kanji. He couldn’t read it, it was sloppy and smeared, but it was there. The words lifted, bumps pressing against the skin of his finger, “It’s today, Hinata.”

The voice is silent. Hinata doesn’t offer anything, he doesn’t speak at all, he doesn’t hum, he doesn’t fidget, he just breathes. 

But Oikawa doesn’t want him to breathe. He doesn’t need him to breathe, he wants words. He wants Iwa. 

He just wants Iwa.  _ His  _ Iwa. 

Oikawa hangs up, letting the phone clank back onto the rack with a thud. Sobs building within his throat, burning behind his eyes, searing within against his chest. Everything hurts, it aches. He just can’t, he can’t do it anymore. He doesn’t want to. 

“You’ve gotta try, shittykawa,” A voice says.

“I - I can’t...I can’t.”

“Shittykawa,” but he can’t look. He doesn’t want to, he won’t look. Because as much as he wants, Oikawa won’t be there, “Please.” 

Lifting his heavy head, his neck straining, he looks up at the moon, the faint outline of the kanji forming a shape. It’s sharp and smooth, kind and rough, reliable, and stable. It’s Bolder. It’s Beginning. It’s Rock. 

“Why did you leave me?” He cries, letting his body fall into the concrete of the sidewalk, his legs rolling out on the dirt that lines it. The night breeze drawing across his body, “When we said death do us part...you didn’t have to take it so literally…”

“Why did you take it so literally?” 

The outline doesn’t offer any words, only moves. It moves down to crouch in front of Oikawa, not quite touching him, but letting its hands drop above his. There’s no warmth, no pulse of life, and no sunshine, but Oikawa can feel him. Oikawa can feel the weight on his hand, digging down into his fingertips. 

Breathing in the silence, he asks, “Will you walk with me? I’ve never liked walking alone.”

The outline nods, standing, dusting itself off. It shimmers in the oncoming light of morning. How long has it been? The glow of the cresting sunlight causes it to become a transparent emptiness, but the pressure on his hand, right above his heart, let’s him know that something’s there. 

He staggers to his feet, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. He fills the outlined ear with his tales of Brazil, of spikes and serves. Of the beaches and the cocktails. He fills the outline in on the time that has passed. And as daybreak grows closer, as less and less of the outline is shown, Oikawa whispers:

“Happy Birthday, Iwa-Chan. You’re old now.” 

The outline flicks at his arm, offering him a lazy head but. Oikawa relishes in the dull pain it provides, not enough to make him complain, not even enough to make him say ‘ow’ but it’s enough. It’s enough for now. 

By the time he manages to make it to that flower shop, he’s alone, but not quite alone. Something is missing, but there’s something there. 

“Oh! You’re here, Toru!” A woman says, her voice bright and chipper, pulling open the metal handle of the glass door, “The usual?” 

He lets out a sigh, wiping his hand through the emptiness beside him, “Yeah...just the usual…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hoped you enjoyed, so sorry if I made you sad or if this hurt you! Please know I love you! 
> 
> Ok, so let me clarify some things:  
> • oikawa and iwa were married  
> • iwa died
> 
> Don’t be shy, leave me a comment on your thoughts, corrections, or things you’d like to read in the future.  
> [psa: comments keep me motivated and help me know that my work is being read and seen, so, please:) no pressure 🥺💕]


End file.
